


All Strange Wonders

by deskclutter



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, Howl Series - Diana Wynne Jones, Howl's Moving Castle - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen, and also with Howl's Moving Castle the book, requires familiarity with the Tiffany Aching quartet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-05 15:11:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/724704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deskclutter/pseuds/deskclutter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a different universe, there's a star who does not become Lily Angorian because she fell into the hands of a different witch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Strange Wonders

Tiffany was thinking about what precisely she ought to say to Roland (in the event that she was called on for help) (which wavered between likely and unlikely depending on how long she thought about it), when she pulled the paper star from her pocket. It had begun as a strip of paper, knotted and pushed flat, folded around and over into a pentagon shape until some enterprising hand had pinched it into five points, and now it had ended on Tiffany's palm, slightly squashed but still recognisably starlike.

"Hmm," she said, staring down at the shamble she had woven whilst she'd been turning the question of Letitia's training around and over in her mind. She dropped the star gently into the centre of it all and studied the results.

"Hmm," she said again.

 

Wentworth opened the door directly after Tiffany had exiled Medium-Sized Jock to a corner of the dairy that was within her line of sight but opposite from her own corner.

"Tiffy," he said, which stilled the sharp retort on her tongue; he never called her that anymore unless he was too distracted to remember not to.

She folded her hand into her pocket, where the paper star brushed against her hand. "What is it?" she said, which was when she noticed that Medium-Sized Jock had come to stand by her elbow.

"Mum said it must have been hunger playing tricks with our eyes..." said Wentworth, casting his eyes aside and scratching at his head. Then he looked straight at his sister. "But we used to think that about the Nac Mac Feegle once, didn't we? No harm meant," he added to Medium-Sized Jock.

"As we meant not tae be seen, I dinnae see that I should tak' harm," said Medium-Sized Jock cheerfully.

"What is it?" said Tiffany again, a thread of impatience winding its way into her voice.

Wentworth and Medium-Sized Jock exchanged surreptitious glances. "It was the kitchen fire," Wentworth said. "It changed colours! Only for a moment, but it was blue and green and purple. It looked like it had a face."

Tiffany thought about this. "A proper face?" she asked, and gestured at the groove under her nose. "With a philtrum and cheekbones and all?"

"It looked more of a drawing of a face," said Wentworth. "Only the drawing was made of fire, like. The purple flames were its eyes and it had a blue pointy chin." He waved his hand vaguely at his face. "It sounds stupid now I've said it," he muttered.

Tiffany was about to assure him that it didn't when Medium-Sized Jock said, "What was the green bits, if the purple was eyes?"

"Hair," said Wentworth. "Curly hair."

Medium-Sized Jock nodded sagely. "If I was tae say," he said, stroking his chin. "that sounds like a fire demon tae me."

Wentworth looked at Tiffany, who looked at Wentworth and said. "In our _kitchen_?"

"Weeeeeeeeel," hemmed Medium-Sized Jock. "That would depend. Does yer fire enjoy talkin' back at yer when it is cooking? An' has it got hold o' a human heart?"

"No," said Wentworth, though he sounded a little dubious.

"No!" said Tiffany in her firmest voice. "Not in _our_ kitchen!"

"Then verra likely it is no' a fire demon!" said Medium-Sized Jock. "Though what is may be exactly I cannae say. I would talk tae Rob aboot it."

"Right," said Tiffany. She slipped her pencil into her pocket where it rustled the paper, rose from the stool, dusted her hands off, and marched off.

Wentworth stumbled out after her. "What'll we do, Tiff?"

"I'll check the kitchen myself, just to be safe," said Tiffany. "Don't worry, Went. But you're not to spread even a whisper about people's hearts in a witch's grate, d'you understand?"

"I wouldn't!" protested Wentworth.

"Just to be safe," said Tiffany.

 

When she had ascertained that there were neither demons nor hearts in the kitchen fire or any other fire on Home Farm, Tiffany set out for the Feegle mound.

You've got Second Sight, haven't you? You knew that there was something up, she said to herself. You _knew_ there was something coming.

Her Second Thoughts said, Fire demons have nothing to do with paper stars!

Her Third Thoughts said, Why was Wentworth in the kitchen instead of you?

Tiffany sighed and scanned the sky. She could see Hamish and Morag wheeling in the sky, though they were too far away to wave. Beneath the soil, flint slumbered, she could feel the snores between her toes. This is my land and we do what we can for now, she said to herself, and all her Thoughts calmed in agreement.

Clouds chased the sun like lambs at play, and Tiffany held on to her hat. There was a scent on the wind.

It smelled rather like simmered lamb.

And up ahead, there was a red square on the ground, and now that Tiffany was closer, she could see that it was a picnic cloth.

"Jeannie," she said, nodding. "Rob." The Big Man was not the tidiest Feegle, but for him, he looked almost neat. His hair was less messy than usual and the twigs had all been pulled from it, at least.

Jeannie nodded back. "Tiffany," she said, pleasantly. _There_ was a cause for caution.

Tiffany cleared her throat. "Fire demons," she said.

Rob also cleared his throat. "Will ye no' sit by with us?" He darted a glance at Jeannie and visibly relaxed when she nodded her approval. She also patted the picnic square in invitation and made an imperious gesture at the waiting Nac Mac Feegle.

"What's all this, then?" said Tiffany, eyeing the plate that the Feegle lads were carrying out, which Tiffany herself had gifted to Jeannie last Hogswatch as part of a set. There was a full-sized sandwich on it. Her stomach growled, but she pretended not to notice. Jeannie also ignored it, so she slanted a Look at Jeannie.

"Dinnae think that will work on me, miss," said Jeannie. "Medium-Sized Jock tells me ye had but a crust o' bread at midday. That willnae do if you are to face a fire demon." She took her own plate from the Roblets and put it next to her. "Come, sit by us an' eat."

Rob had been grinning in malicious sympathy at her since her stomach growled. "Thank you," Tiffany said, with as much dignity as she could muster. "It's very kind of you." And she sat down.

 

"Fire demons," Tiffany reminded them as she licked her fingers primly.

"Aye, Medium-Sized Jock did mention that, when he wasnae speakin' of yer lunch," said Rob, grinning. He pretended not to notice when Tiffany glared. "Cunnin' scunners, fire demons. Verra bright, o' course, on account o' the fire an' on account o' thinkin'. But a fire demon fears death most. That streak o' large 'natomy! Imagine that!"

A gust of wind teased at the edge of the picnic cloth, but Jeannie had already assigned a Feegle to each unoccupied corner in anticipation of that. "They live on hearts," she said. "An' when a fire demon has used a living heart dry, it must find a fresh one."

"What do people get in exchange?" said Tiffany, because she knew how people worked. In the distance, her ears picked up the sound of scuffing.

"A fire demon will bargain anything it can for life," said Jeannie. "But tae be fair, a fire demon has the _capacity_ tae grant a grreat many things!" She turned to the horizon. "It's Amber," she said. "Call for another plate."

By the time Amber reached them, Tiffany had half-finished her second mutton sandwich. "Oh!" said Amber, looking at her plate. "For me? Thank you, but I was only looking for--"

"Sit a spell," ordered Jeannie.

Amber sat and opened her palm. "Look what blew into my kitchen this morning!"

They were charred papers, yellow with age and wrinkled with wear; Tiffany knew them. She'd found them when she'd been nine. "I keep these in my room," she said, touching a finger to them gently. They'd been the pages of a book once. A witch's book. You pick and choose the omens that guide your life, Tiffany thought to herself, but sometimes when the universe is attempting to tell you something, a witch must listen. "Jeannie," she said, looking up. "Where do fire demons come from?"

"You've guessed already," said Jeannie. "They come unstuck fra the firmament and fall to the earth."

"A falling star," said Tiffany, and her eyes caught how Amber's interest grew.

"If a star should fall an' there's none as can hear, there's nae harm done," said Rob. "But if some bigjob happens tae wander the fields as a star falls..." He mimed an explosion with his fists, though Tiffany was reasonably sure he was editorialising.

"That is how a fire demon comes tae be," said Jeannie. "The one who gives her heart away becomes heartless, an' death will still come fer the fire demon, so there's none happy in the end."

"Oh," said Amber.

"Be mindful of your hearts," said Jeannie, meeting Tiffany's glance.

"An' ye must remember that ye cannae throw a fire demon so it flies back intae the sky," Rob warned. "It disnae stick, ye ken."

 

"Mine was a firefly," Letitia told them over the fire that night. "I wouldn't have paid any attention to it, only, a few nights ago, I remembered that I used to think stars were fireflies, trapped in the sky." She giggled. "It's so silly to think about now! And fireflies are a lot less pretty in the day, aren't they?" They had built the fire by Granny Aching's old stove, and Tiffany had settled herself so she leaned against the cast iron in comfort. The Feegle had brought them teacups -- which looked very familiar to Tiffany, and she made a note to herself about Jeannie's next Hogswatch gift -- and then had vanished back into the mound, on Rob's orders. Ye niver know what silly clunch might tak' it intae his heid tae feel sorry for a dyin' star, he had said, meaning people like Daft Wullie, which was a fair assessment.

Tiffany thought fireflies were ugly no matter when it happened to be, but she decided not to bring it up.

"I told Roland he's no call to say when I go out or come back before I left tonight," said Letitia. She held out her hands over the fire and fell silent abruptly.

"And?" Tiffany prompted when the silence grew too thick.

"Well!" said Letitia embarrassed. "He was very shocked and a little hurt, I think, and he said he'd never tried to limit my coming and going, which is true, but I thought he was displeased by it, which he said he wasn't, so we had a long talk about that. And-and, I think, it was a _good_ talk?" She shuffled her feet, her knees bent. "Sometimes I get a bit caught up in my own head, and so does he, so we worry we've made each other unhappy, but it's really us making ourselves unhappy. It's such a relief to know that."

"I think Roland's more than a little caught in his own head, usually," said Tiffany, and Letitia giggled again.

"Yes, all right -- but you know what I mean! It works out into the same thing."

"What about the Queen?" Amber wanted to know. Half the time, she had her eyes in the distance as though she were occupied with something else, a distant music no one else could hear, but they'd found she could listen to multiple things very well.

"I haven't said anything to him yet," said Letitia.

"D'you need me to--"

"No, no," Letitia interrupted Tiffany. "I _will_ do it." Her smiled firmed and became a certain thing. "I _can_ do it."

Tiffany nodded. "Amber," she said. "Your tea's gone cold."

"It's all right," said Amber. But Tiffany reached for the fire anyway and put her other hand to the cup. Fire before me, she thought, and she felt the golden hare at her neck glitter in the firelight. Letitia watched, enraptured, until steam rose.

"Will I learn that with Queen Magrat?" she asked in a hushed voice.

"She's more of a herbalist," Tiffany admitted. "But honestly, I don't know what you'll learn. There's no certain road to learning witchcraft, and that's the most certain thing I can say about it."

"Oh!" said Amber. "Look!" Something streaked across the sky, and Amber had already snatched up her broom and soared into the sky after it.

 

The thing about stars, Tiffany knew, was that they weren't really folded pieces of paper or trapped faraway fireflies or pretty pictures in a book.

They were great balls of gas, burning millions and millions of miles away. But it was easier to think of them as pictures and fireflies and paper, little stories that made them more manageable to think about and dream about and to catch in the palm of your hand.

Because when it came to catching a falling star, it was much easier to imagine a small thing that a giant ball of flame hurtling towards the Chalk.

(Never mind that it isn't really _stars_ that fall, Tiffany told herself sternly as she got her leg over the broom and hauled Letitia up behind her.)

 

"Why're we going the wrong way!" shrieked Letitia in Tiffany's ear.

"We're not!" shouted Tiffany back. "She's flying too high, she'll never catch up if she misses! We'll go for it if she doesn't make it."

"But we're too slow!" cried Letitia. Tiffany grimly put her heels to her broom and bent low over it.

They shot over the ground, following the arc of Amber's flight as she swerved towards the gleaming star...

"OH WELL DONE!" screamed Letitia as Amber dove and somehow stopped herself in a hover just above the ground.

The star had nestled into Amber's palm when they caught up to her. It was shaped like a teardrop, if a teardrop had a pointy chin, and it cast a strange white glow that muted all the colours in the world. Tiffany did not like the look of it.

When it spoke, it reminded Tiffany of the heart of summer, suffocatingly dry. "Make a contract with me," it was saying to Amber. "I have a lot of power to give, and I'll give it to you. Anything you wish, you could do. Anyone who hurt you, I will hurt. Anything you want returned, I will find."

There were stars in Amber's eyes, Tiffany thought, disconcerted, but then she looked again and she only saw delight.

"Amber!" said Letitia. "Don't listen!"

Amber blinked the dazzle in her eyes away. "I could do it myself, if I wanted," she said to the star. "I'm a witch, you know."

The star hissed like a kettle. "So you'd condemn me to death?" It turned to the other witches. "Bargain with me!" it demanded, its voice gone sharp and high in desperation. Its flame was already dying.

Letitia shut her eyes. "My heart's already spoken for," she said, gently. "I mean, it's mine. I'm speaking for my heart. I won't give it away."

"I'll bargain," said Tiffany.

Amber and Letitia let out twin gasps of horror.

"Not with you," Tiffany said in the fire demon's direction, with the cadence of afterthought. She looked into the shadows. "I've brought a deck of cards."

AH, said a voice that hummed in everyone's bones. And there it was, the pale horse she'd been looking for, led by its pale rider. I DIDN'T REALISE YOU WANTED ME. GOOD EVENING, MISS TIFFANY ACHING.

"Good evening," said Tiffany to Death.

 

NAME THE STAKES, said Death.

"One round for one life," said Tiffany.

AND THE GAME?

"Cripple Mr Onion," Tiffany pronounced.

Death looked her over. His scythe was still propped against his shoulder, the blue gleam of its edge the only colour in the world save the light in Death's eyes. ARE YOU SURE? Death asked. I HAVE PLAYED CRIPPLE MR ONION SINCE BEFORE YOU WERE BORN, YOUNG SNAPPER.

"Granny Weatherwax taught me to play it," said Tiffany.

I PLAY CRIPPLE MR ONION MOST OFTEN AGAINST MISTRESS WEATHERWAX, Death pointed out.

"I've also learnt from Nanny Ogg, and I promise you, neither of them have played like I will," said Tiffany.

VERY WELL, said Death. He turned to Letitia. WOULD YOU HOLD THIS FOR ME? he said to Letitia, handing his scythe to her with both his bony hands.

Letitia gulped but nodded, accepting Death's second-best weapon with trained grace. She shot a look at Tiffany; half-fearful, half-glaring. Tiffany nodded back with all the certainty she possessed.

"One round for a fire demon's life," she repeated just to be very clear, and expertly cut the cards.

 

I TRUST YOU WON'T MAKE A HABIT OF THIS, said Death, who was a very gracious loser after all. He had taken back his scythe and gathered up Binky's reins; all that remained was for him to leave.

"No promises," said Tiffany.

One of the lights in his eye sockets flashed. IT WAS A GOOD GAME, said Death.

Tiffany refused to smile as colour bled back into the land.

"Your flame's still going out," she heard Amber say to the fire demon.

"Tiffany?" said Letitia, and she turned to find them all watching her expectantly.

"I didn't catch it!" said Tiffany. "Amber--"

"I'm not an 'it', I'm a 'she'," said the fire demon. "And if I'm about to die, I'd like you call me 'she' in the last moments of my life, please."

"Hush," ordered Tiffany. "Amber, you caught her. You've got to cast the spell."

For the first time all night, Amber looked bewildered. "Which spell?" she said.

"You're the witch," said Tiffany. "You tell me."

"Oh, but Tiffany--!" said Letitia, but Tiffany held up her hand and watched as Amber took a deep breath and another deep breath.

"I can do this," said Amber to the fire demon. "But I need your name to do it."

"You didn't want to make a contract," said the fire demon. "I'm not obligated to give you my name."

"I don't want you to die either," said Amber, her voice going softer.

The fire demon hesitated. "I like the name 'Lily'. You can call me that."

Tiffany felt her eyebrows raise. That's a very sensitive name in the company of witches! her Second Thoughts sang out, inconveniently.

Names deserve second chances! Tiffany thought back fiercely. Now, hush!

"Lily," Amber breathed, and she began to hum. She bent her forehead towards the fire demon. "Live," she said. "Live for another thousand years!"

They all felt something change in the air. Amber opened her eyes. "Did it work?"

The fire demon -- Lily -- lifted softly off her hands, which must by now have been very stiff, and twirled in midair. Her flames grew bigger and brighter. "I feel so light!" she said. She turned again and abruptly halted, her forehead furrowing. "And I owe you all my life," she said.

"You shan't stay if you don't want to," said Letitia firmly. "You didn't make a contract with us after all, and anyway I didn't help that much..."

Lily sulked a little, considering the situation. "I will stay for a bit," she said. "Because I owe _you_ ," she glared at Amber, who grinned. "But then I'm leaving!"

"You can live in my fireplace," said Amber, her face lit with joy. "I'll feed you plenty of logs."

When Tiffany saw that Amber was looking to her, she nodded at Amber, and they were both pleased to leave it at that.

 

 _Do you know,_ Preston wrote, _that every blue moon I accept letters that aren't penned in your dairy? It shocked me too, let me tell you, to find Hamish parachuting into my face in broad daylight, as shocking as it was delightful to discover that Kelda Jeannie's has a neater hand than I do. But you won't want to read about an apprentice doctor's injuries, so I shall say instead that I have been charged to remind you, Miss Tiffany Aching, that you are obliged to eat proper meals even when I'm not around to -- what's a nice word for 'badger'? -- brock you into it eating proper food, even if we have, you and I, compromised on eating at proper tables..._

 _Let me tell you how Hamish learnt to use a parachute,_ Tiffany wrote back as an affectionate sort of revenge, a hope that his face might burst into flame whenever he saw Hamish parachute thereafter.

Then off she went into the day, rejoicing that Letitia had been right and she would go to Magrat tomorrow with her husband's blessings and his love, rejoicing that the Nac Mac Feegle for all their dire warnings had taken to the fire demon in Amber's grate like cats to a reluctant human. The sky felt lighter, and still the flint slept on beneath the chalk, and all was well, and Tiffany sought out Hamish the aviator to see if he might oblige her by carrying a letter to the city.


End file.
